


Acceptance

by Spurlunk



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Art, Coffee Shops, F/M, Gen, M/M, Neighbors, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2525819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spurlunk/pseuds/Spurlunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve develops a crush on the handsome young man living in the apartment across from his, and after a few months of hanging out, he thinks the feeling might be mutual. Just when he's ready to reveal the depth of his feelings, however, tragedy strikes that changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve was a night owl, and he did his best artwork after dark. Unfortunately, his job was during the day, but usually he made it through the week by chugging coffee until Saturday, then passing out for a full day or so. Tonight was Friday, so he was actually sleeping when the fire alarm went off. It might have been blaring for more than five minutes by the time he realized what was happening and rolled out of bed. Steve pulled a sweatshirt over his head, and locked the door of his apartment behind him as he headed down the stairs. He didn't smell smoke or anything, and joined the clusters of people gathering in the parking lot, annoyed and shivering.

"Someone on the tenth floor burned their popcorn," Steve heard one woman say as he found a spot a little bit away from most of the people, leaning against a tree and trying to wake himself up enough to be a person.

"Fuck," someone muttered, and Steve realized he wasn't alone here. There was a wiry, dark-haired guy wearing nothing but boxers standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest as he jiggled from foot to foot in the chilly autumn air.

"I heard someone burned their popcorn," Steve said. He was just trying to make conversation. This guy was cute. He was having a hard time not looking at his nipples.

"Who the fuck makes fucking popcorn at three am?" he said. Steve kind of wanted to draw him but it didn't seem like the right time to ask.

The fire trucks showed up and the sirens just made everything worse. Steve sat down on the ground. He didn't care if it was cold. He was doing the best he could to just stay awake right now. The dark-haired grumpy guy followed suit, and nudged Steve.

"What?" he said.

"Wake me up when they let us back inside," he said, and promptly fell asleep with his head on Steve's shoulder. Steve raised his arm up, and then brought it back down awkwardly.

"I don't even know your name," he said. He thought the other man was already asleep, but he mumbled "Bucky," and fell silent. His breathing was even within seconds, and Steve was afraid to move even when his arm started getting pins and needles.

The fire trucks were leaving, and Steve tried to gently nudge Bucky awake. He wasn't moving.

"Come on, we can go back in now. Bucky ," he said, but it didn't work. Finally Steve just stood up, letting Bucky's head fall gently to the ground. As soon as he realized his pillow was gone, Bucky opened his eyes and sat up.

"What's going on?" he said, but it came out more like "Warmblemurghph?"

"We can go in now." Steve said. Bucky reached his hand out and Steve took it, helping him to his feet. His hand was freezing.

"Seriously, though, who the fuck burns popcorn - " Bucky was saying again as the two of them joined the rest of the crowd walking back into the apartment building.

"I burned the fucking popcorn," someone behind them said in a deep voice. Steve and Bucky turned around to see a large and imposing man with a black eye patch. It didn't make him look much like a pirate. It just made him look intimidating. He was waiting for them to respond. Bucky and Steve looked at each other and came to a silent decision, walking away from the man until they were engulfed by the crowd. There was a group of people waiting for the elevator, so Steve headed for the stairs. Bucky grumbled, but followed him up. Steve was wondering if Bucky was just going to follow him right into his apartment, but when they stopped at the fourth floor, Steve went into his apartment and Bucky went into the one across the hall.

"Thanks, neighbor," Bucky said, and he gave Steve a lazy smile before the door shut behind him. Steve knew there was no way he was going to get back to sleep. He sat down at his desk, and picked up a pencil. He needed to capture that cocky smile down on paper, even though he knew he wasn't going to forget it anytime soon.

Steve didn't come out of his apartment again until Sunday morning. He was finally refreshed and well-rested. Plus he had something he wanted to take care of. He walked over to his desk and ripped off the drawing he had done of Bucky's face from his sketchbook, scribbling a question on the back, and walked out the door before he changed his mind. He had a piece of tape on his thumb, and he was just sticking the paper up to the door when it opened and he nearly lost his balance. Bucky was standing there, looking a little bit confused but a lot more clothed than he had the last time Steve saw him. He still looked like he'd just woken up, but Steve thought maybe he always looked that way.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Um. Nothing. I just. I dropped something. I'm going to go - " Steve stuttered, and then Bucky snatched the paper out of his hand, backing a couple of steps into his apartment so that Steve couldn't grab it back.

"Damn," Bucky said, his voice losing any teasing quality it had to it, "this is good. I didn't know you were an artist, Steve," he said.

"How do you know my name?"

"It's on your mailbox in the lobby. Seriously, this is good. Do you sell your stuff anywhere? I can keep this, right?"

"It's yours," Steve said, trying to back away into his own apartment, but Bucky was already flipping the paper over to read the note at the back. He gave Steve that same smirk he had drawn him with, and Steve met his eyes.

"I'd love to get coffee with you. Is now good for you?" he asked.

"Now? Like right now?" Steve replied.

"You got other plans?"

Steve shook his head, and Bucky disappeared back into his apartment.

"I'm getting my shoes on, gimme two minutes," he called out. Steve went back to his own apartment and grabbed his wallet and keys. Within five minutes, the two of them were ready, though Steve was much better prepared for the actual weather outside than Bucky was.

"Aren't you going to be cold?" Steve asked. Bucky was just wearing a threadbare T-shirt and jeans. Steve had on a jacket over a long sleeved button down shirt.

"I'm fine. I lived in Russia for a while. After Moscow winters, this shit is like a sauna to me," he said.

"Why were you in Moscow?" Steve asked as they walked out of the building and down the street.

"I had a job there. It's kind of complicated. You wanna go to the Starbucks down the street or did you have something else you wanted to try?" Bucky asked, changing the subject.

"Actually yes, my friend Sam is a baker at a really good cafe. Their coffee is not bad either."

Bucky made an elaborate lead the way gesture, and Steve did as he asked, taking a right at the corner as Bucky followed right behind. The coffee shop was bustling but not overcrowded, it was still pretty early on a Sunday morning and people might be sleeping in or in church. Steve saw Sam, like an eye of a hurricane, calm and efficient as he moved around behind the counter, almost like he was dancing with the other barista, a pretty redhead.

"Natalia!" Bucky said, and the redhead turned around and grinned at him, but it was gone so quickly Steve might have imagined it.

"James, what are you doing here?" she asked. Sam had turned around after hearing the commotion, and grinned at Steve, grabbing his hand to slap over the counter in greeting.

"Steve, what's up, you want your usual?"

"Yeah, thanks," he said.

"Give me my usual too, Nat," Bucky said.

"You've never been here before, dumbass," she replied.

"Fine, then give me the same thing he's having," Bucky said, and she turned her back on him, wiping down the counter top.

"Two iced vanilla lattes and two slices of lemon blueberry cake, then," Sam said. Steve handed him his credit card and Bucky flung his arm around Steve's shoulders.

"Why thank you, Mr. Rogers," he said, and Steve rolled his eyes. He already felt like he'd known Bucky forever. Sam was clearly hiding a smile as he watched the two of them. His coworker was preparing the coffees, her back still turned towards them.

"Make mine with extra love, Nat," Bucky called out. She turned around to make sure he could see her, and then spit in one of the coffees, handing it to him and giving the other one to Steve, who thanked her.

"That's a health code violation! Did you see that!" Bucky said, and Steve couldn't take another minute of this, he was sure the whole place was staring at the scene Bucky was trying to create. Steve grabbed the lemon blueberry cake and hauled Bucky to the back of the cafe, where he pushed him down on an overstuffed sofa and sat down across from him, a round table in between. He was small enough to fit comfortably, but Bucky's knees were pressed up almost to his chin. He stuck one leg out over the table and onto Steve's chair, leaning back.

"So how do you know Sam's coworker?"

"Natalia and I go way back, we met when I was in Moscow, we were uh, in the same exchange program. I didn't know she worked here though. That's hilarious. I'm never going to let her live that down."

"What's wrong with working at a coffee shop?" Sam said, taking a seat next to Steve.

"I'm on break," he said, responding to Steve's questioning look.

"She doesn't even drink coffee!" Bucky said.

"Everyone drinks coffee." Steve said as if this was an indisputable fact.

"Does not."

"Does too."

"Does not."

"Steve, where'd you find this guy anyway?" Sam asked. Steve was glad he asked, because otherwise he might have kept that argument with Bucky up for hours, but when he realized what the question was actually about, he was no longer so glad.

"Uh. Well, we're neighbors, and there was a fire in our building, so - "

"Steve was kind enough to be my pillow."

"You two slept together?" Sam asked, his eyes lit up with what could only be classified as pure mischief.

"Not - not like that!"

"He drew me a picture this morning and left it on my door with his phone number on the back," Bucky said. Sam grinned, delighted at his friend's romantic gesture.

"I did not!" Steve protested, and Bucky laughed.

"I'm just messing with you," he said, and Steve half-heartedly shoved his leg off of the chair, letting it thunk to the ground.

"I like him," Sam told Steve.

"You would," he replied.

"A little help over here!" Nat called, and Sam stood up, putting his apron back on.

"Sorry, I'd love to stay and chat but if I don't get over there in three seconds, she'll start breaking my fingers one at a time," he said.

"She's not joking. She will," Bucky said, and Sam said it was nice to meet him before he headed back to work.

That first time at the coffee shop became a tradition in the next few weeks. Steve worked during the week, slept on Saturday, and did errands on Sunday, so meeting up in the morning for a few hours over coffee and pastries became a routine. Sam and Natasha joined them if it wasn't too busy, and it had only been a month before Bucky actually showed up at Steve's workplace. He couldn't help but roll his eyes and smile when he saw who was next in the checkout line. It had become his default reaction to Bucky.

"Don't you have your own job to go to?" Steve asked.

"I'm on vacation!"

"You've been on vacation since I've known you."

"I got sick of bothering Natasha."

"She kicked you out, didn't she?"

"Maybe."

"Look, you have to buy something, or get out of the line before my manager notices you."

"Here," Bucky said, grabbing a pack of gum and setting it on the conveyor belt. Steve took his time scanning it.

"So when do I get to actually see your place?" Bucky asked.

"You want to see my apartment?"

"Yeah. We live right across from each other, I wanna know what your house looks like," Bucky said.

"I guess you can come over tonight if you want, after I get off work," Steve said.

"Well when you put it that way, maybe I won't bother."

"No, I'm sorry if I didn't sound excited, I just - my place is a mess, I could clean up a little before you see it - "

"Don't worry about that, I just want to see where you spend all your time. I don't care if it's messy. Mine's worse, I can guarantee it."

"Can we go to your apartment instead?" Steve asked.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Excuse me, do you need any help with your purchase today sir?" a balding man in the same uniform as Steve asked. Bucky pocketed the gum and shook his head.

"No, I'm all good. See ya later, Steve," Bucky said, and sauntered out.

"Did he pay for that?" the manager asked. Steve fished a dollar out of his pocket and put it in the register.

"I've got it covered."

Bucky met Steve right outside the store after work and walked back to the apartment building together, taking the elevator this time up to their floor. Steve was a little embarrassed at showing Bucky his place. It wasn't that messy, really, but his sketchbook was open on his desk, to a drawing of Bucky of course. He shut it quickly as he walked by, and moved some books and papers off of the couch.

"Do you go to school or something?"  Bucky asked.

"No, I just like to read. Art history, mostly, but also some political stuff."

"Nerd," Bucky said.

"Jerk," Steve replied, sitting down on his beat-up old sofa. Bucky sat down next to him, sticking his feet on the coffee table of course. Steve hit him a couple of times but when he didn't react, Steve just got up and physically removed Bucky's clunky shoes. No dirt on his coffee table. He ate dinner there, more often than not.

"Let's watch a movie," Bucky said. Steve turned on the TV and the DVD he'd been watching the night before was still in there.

"You were watching a movie about Abraham Lincoln?" Bucky said.

"Yeah, so?" Steve replied, hitting play. Bucky shrugged, and sat back to watch.

Hours later, Steve opened his eyes and was not sure exactly where he was for a moment. Then he realized he was on his own couch, but he was not alone. Bucky was there with him, the two of them hopelessly tangled up on the sofa that wasn't big enough for the two of them. Bucky's chest was behind Steve's back, and he could hear it rise and fall with each breath he took. Content, Steve fell back asleep.

Soon enough, they had progressed from weekly coffee hang-outs to spending at least half of their time in each other's apartments in the evenings. Bucky's place was in fact hopelessly messy, and he had very little furniture, but he did have TV and a videogame console, so they spent a lot of time playing sports games together. Steve had always been better at sports conceptually than in real life, so he was almost evenly matched with Bucky. Sam and Nat joined them now and again, but it was mostly just the two of them. Steve had never felt this way about anyone else before. It wasn't that he had been missing anything in his life before Bucky came along, but now that he was here he couldn't imagine any alternative.

"You have to just tell him, come on, Steve. It's starting to hurt me to see the two of you together now," Sam said on one of the rare weekday afternoons Steve wasn't working. They were getting lunch at a Greek place, because Steve knew Bucky hated Mediterranean food and Steve wanted to talk to Sam about him. He'd just told Sam how he felt about Bucky, and Sam's response was of course, something along the lines of 'duh'.

"I don't want to ruin it though. I'd rather be his friend than tell him how I feel and have him never speak to me again." Steve said.

"He's not like that. Nat wouldn't tolerate him if he was that kind of a person."

"Good point," Steve said. He'd gotten to know Sam's coworker a little more over the last few months and it was clear she didn't have patience for assholes. The fact that she put up with Bucky as much as she did was a sign of his worthiness.

"You need me to cheer you on? I can text you motivational quotes."

"No thank you. I'll be fine. I'll just knock on his door right now, as soon as I get home, and tell him how I feel."

"Yeah, man. Do it!" Sam said. Steve stood up, pushing his chair away from the table.

"Not yet though. Don't leave me with the bill, pay first. Then tell him how you feel," Sam amended, and Steve nodded, sitting back down. The waiter would be back over with the check in a second, a few more minutes couldn't hurt.

Steve walked up to his apartment nervous but excited, feeling kind of tingly all over. As soon as he got off on his floor though, he could see something was wrong. Bucky's apartment door was ajar, and there was police tape cordoning off the area. A few of the other residents were gathered around, murmuring to each other.

"What's going on?" Steve asked Sharon, the blonde nurse who lived a couple of doors down.

"They found the man who lived there, shot to death. They're saying it was a botched robbery. It's so sad, apparently he was young, too," she said. Steve's face turned white.

"No. No, that can't be right. Not Bucky," he said.

"Oh my god, did you know him? I'm so sorry - "

Steve didn't wait to hear more. He ducked under the caution tape and ignored the protests of the police officers, slipping between them and dodging their hands until he made it into Bucky's bedroom. He wasn't there, but there was a team of forensic people taking pictures and cataloging the blood stain on the floor. It was large. Large enough that there was no doubt in Steve's mind that Sharon had been right.

"He's dead?" Steve asked in a small voice.

"Shot over a dozen times. We'll be in here gathering fucking pieces for hours," one of the women said, and her coworker nudged her, hard. Steve ran out of the room to the tiny kitchen and threw up in the sink.

"This is a crime scene, you can't be - aw, shit. You okay, kid?" a police officer asked. Steve didn't respond.

"You need me to - "

"I'm fine," Steve said, and went to his own apartment, slamming the door behind him. He went straight to his sketchbook, and violently ripped every picture of James Buchanan Barnes to shreds, falling like confetti all around him on the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some images in this chapter, so make sure you can see them if you're reading this on your phone.

Steve didn't leave his apartment for two days. He just wasn't ready to deal with anyone or anything. He thought he was overreacting, after all he had only known Bucky for a few months, but he felt like someone had chopped his arm off. No, that would probably hurt less. He didn't pick up his phone, but he listened to his voicemail and found out that he had been fired from his job at the grocery store for not showing up for his shifts. He watched the news enough to find out that the police had no idea who had shot Bucky and were writing it off because they didn't really have any leads. Steve wasn't sure if that even mattered to him. Bucky was gone, and catching who had killed him wouldn't bring him back.

On the third day, someone knocked on Steve's door. He was debating just not answering, but some impulse made him push himself up to his feet and walk over to see who it was. Sam stood in front of him when he opened the door, and he immediately pulled Steve into a hug that nearly crushed him.

"Hey man, I'm sorry," he said, and Steve took a moment before he hugged him back. He looked past Sam and saw that Bucky's apartment no longer had caution tape in front of it. In fact, it looked exactly the same as it had when Bucky still lived there.  Sam pulled away and looked at Steve.

"How long have you been wearing those clothes for?" he asked, and they walked into Steve's apartment together. Steve shrugged and sat down on the couch, and Sam shoved a pile of food wrappers aside to sit on the coffee table.

"I know you lost your job at the grocery store, and you're not going to last very long without a paycheck coming in every week. As your friend, I'm doing you a favor."

"What kind of favor?" Steve asked, curious despite everything.

"Natasha left. She didn't explain why, she just said she had personal business and she didn't know how long she'd be gone. We need a new barista at the cafe. I already told the manager I had someone in mind to fill the position, and if I vouch for you he'll take you on without too many questions. You just show up tomorrow morning at seven. Take a shower first, though, and put on some different clothes." Sam said.

"Natasha left?" Steve said.

"Yeah. Didn't give me any details. You know how she is. She did apologize to the manager for the short notice, and he would have been pretty angry if I didn't say I knew someone who could start right away."

"Oh. Thank you. I know I haven't been a great friend these last few days - "

"Don't thank me, go take a shower while I order some Chinese food and see what's on Netflix," Sam said. Steve had no choice but to obey.

They watched silly action movies together that night until Steve fell asleep. He hadn't really slept properly in days, and he woke up the next morning to an alarm on his phone he didn't remember setting. Sam had left a note on his fridge that said: "Shift at the cafe starts at SEVEN AM!!", so Steve brushed his hair, washed his face, and put on a nice shirt and pants. Time to go rejoin the rest of the world.

The job at the cafe with Sam turned out to be just what Steve needed. It took him a little while to get into the rhythym of things, but once he knew how everything was done, he could do work on autopilot. He and Sam made a great team, working smoothly and efficiently together. Steve began recognizing the regulars, and they all seemed to like him, which was a surprise because Sam was so much better with people than he was. Steve was a scrawny guy with glasses who'd been bullied all his life, and he wasn't used to dealing with people when he wasn't defending himself or someone else in an actual physical fight. This job was good for that. Not the fighting part. The learning how to deal with people part.

He didn't forget Bucky. It was never going to be that easy. Whenever Steve had a free moment, he found himself playing with his phone, opening up his contact list and stopping at Bucky's name.

One afternoon, Sam and Steve's shifts actually finished at the same time, because the manager was closing the cafe early. Steve knew that Sam volunteered with kids somewhere after work sometimes, but he didn't know much else about it. That afternoon, however, Sam asked Steve if he wanted to join him.

"I'm in charge of arts and crafts today, and you seem like the right person to come help me out."

"I'm not so good at drawing anymore, I haven't really done anything since - well, you know," Steve replied as they walked down the street together, coat collars turned up against the chilly winter air.

"You don't have to draw, you just have to get the kids to draw. Come on, it's only for a few hours, it's the after-school program so it only runs from four to six anyway."

Steve couldn't say no to Sam, not when what he was asking for was the kind of thing he would probably do gladly if he wasn't feeling so down.

The rec center had about thirty kids in it when Steve and Sam got there, running wild around a big empty room that had a few tables set up on one end. A young blonde woman was ostensibly supervising, though in this case this just meant making none of the kids got themselves or another kid killed or injured. She sighed in relief when she saw Sam walk in.

"Hey Sharon, how's it going?" he said, and she pulled her bag over her shoulder.

"They're all hyped up so I let them run around to burn off some steam, hopefully they're tired out enough to be calmer by the time you're ready for them. Who's your friend?" she asked.

"I'm Steve Rogers," he replied. She smiled and shook his hand.

"Sharon Carter, pleased to meet you."

"He'll be helping me out today. Have a good night, Sharon," Sam said, and Sharon nodded and headed out. 

"Help me drag those tables over and set up the art supplied," Sam told Steve, who grabbed one end of the table. After ten minutes, they had tables set up with different art supplies based on age groups. Sam said he'd take the younger kids, and Steve could handle the older ones. He had a specific activity for the little kids, involving cutting shapes out of colored foam, but he said Steve could do whatever he wanted with the older ones.

When Sam had corralled all of the kids and separated them into groups, there were about ten preteens of various shapes and sizes looking expectantly up at him.

"Hi, everyone, I'm Steve.  Do you all know what a self-portrait is?" he asked.

"Duh," one dark-haired girl said, and there were a few giggles.

"Well how about each of you grab a piece of paper and whatever kind of drawing implement you want, and follow me over to this mirror. I want you to draw what you see. I'll help you if you have any trouble."

Much to Steve's surprise, the kids did what he said, heading over to the large mirror that made up one entire wall of the room, which must have been a dance studio at some point.  They sat down or lay on their stomachs, and began to draw, sometimes murmuring to each other and laughing quietly amongst themselves. Steve walked around them, giving them pointers here and there. He stopped for a minute at a young black boy who was doing a pretty good job at drawing his own likeness. Steve sat down next to him.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Miles," the boy said softly.

"Hi, Miles. I really like what you've done so far. Do you draw a lot?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Well I think you could do some really cool things if you just shaded in this part right here, and added this on the side by your chin," Steve said, and asked Miles if he could borrow his pencil. The boy nodded, and Steve flipped the paper over, drawing a quick sketch to show him what he meant.

"That's really cool," Miles said, and Steve smiled at him.

"You're a great artist. Keep it up," he said, and climbed back to his feet. Sam caught his eye from across the room and gave Steve a big thumbs up. Steve grinned. He kind of liked this. Maybe he'd come back.

That evening, at home, Steve tried to draw. It was the first time he'd picked up his sketchbook since Bucky died, and he thought maybe enough time had passed that he could draw him again. Three crumpled up pieces of paper later, Steve gave up. He knew what Bucky looked like. When he shut his eyes, he saw that cocky smile like he was standing right in front of him, but when he tried to put it to paper, it just didn't work. He knew he had drawn him well before, the evidence from that was still in the trash can from when he'd torn it all up. Then he remembered. He did still have one picture he'd drawn of Bucky. The one that he'd given him, with an invitation for coffee written on the back.

Bucky's apartment door was locked, but Steve knew how to pick a lock. He'd learned back in elementary school, when kids kept locking him into empty classrooms, closets, lockeers, whatever he'd fit into. That was from the inside and this was from the outside, but he was fairly certain the principle was the same. After a few tries, he got the door open, and let himself inside, shutting it softly behind him. Steve moved quickly past the front living area, where bloodstains hadn't faded from the carpet. He had to stop for a minute because he started hyperventilating, then wheezing so hard he had to grab his inhaler.

There were quite a few things tacked up on the fridge. Recipes, takeout menus. A picture of Bucky with Natasha, both looking serious but their eyes sparkling like they had been laughing just a moment before. A photo of a young boy with a girl who must be his sister - was this Bucky when he was a kid? Steve didn't even know that he had a sister. Maybe he would have met her if he'd gone to the funeral.

There, on the side, there was what he wanted. The sketch he'd done of Bucky the night they'd met, a little crumpled but none the worse for wear. Steve put the drawing in his jacket, and left the apartment. It was too oppressive, it felt like Bucky was everywhere, permeating the walls. It was too hard. Steve went back to his own home, and put the drawing inside his sketchbook, where it would be safe.

Steve had been friends with Sam for years. He hadn't realized it when it was happening, but their relationship began to change without his knowledge. He was spending almost all of his  time with Sam - working together at the cafe, volunteering together at the rec center in the after school program, and spending most nights together watching movies and eating dinner on the couch. Steve was at Sam's house when it happened. They had just finished eating dinner, and Sam was reading off the descriptions of different movies they could choose from to watch, but in weird voices that grew increasingly outlandish. Steve was smiling, laughing in a way he hadn't for weeks, and Sam moved forward to kiss him. It felt natural, like this was something they had been meant to be doing all along, and Steve eagerly kissed him back.

After a moment, Sam pulled back.

"You're cool with this?" he asked, now serioius.

"Yes." Steve said, and Sam broke out into a huge smile.

"Good," he replied, and pushed Steve back onto the couch.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a slightly busier than usual that afternoon at the coffee shop. Steve had about an hour before his shift was over, but Sam was here so things weren't too bad. They were good at working together (in more ways that any of the cafe regulars knew), and the day was moving by quickly when it was suddenly interrupted. When the bell above the door tinkled, Sam turned to see who it was. Steve was too busy to bother. Then Sam dropped the ceramic plate he had been holding, and it crashed to the floor, breaking into a thousand pieces. Steve stopped what he was doing and turned around. Bucky and Natasha were standing just inside the front door.

Natasha looked exactly the same, and she grinned at Sam, who moved around the counter to hug her warmly. Bucky looked different. A little thinner, and older somehow around the eyes. His hair was longer, in fact he could probably tie it back in a ponytail if he wanted. He seemed a little less sure of himself than usual.  Steve walked around the counter.

"Hey," Bucky said, and Steve punched him in the face. Unfortunately, Bucky was taller than Steve, so he mostly just connected with the side of his jaw before Sam pulled him back, and Natasha moved in front of Bucky.

"Hey! Hey, Steve. Back off. Go take a break," Sam said, pushing him towards the kitchen. Steve let himself be manhandled for a few moments before shrugging Sam off and heading out the back door, letting it slam behind him. He pulled off his apron and sat down on an empty box by the dumpster, taking a few deep breaths.

Bucky was alive. He was here. Bucky was ALIVE.

The back door opened, and Bucky walked out, pulling over a stool that was missing one leg and sitting down across from Steve, who instinctively backed away a little.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I can never apologize enough, I know that," he said. Steve kept his face blank.

"Why?" he asked simply.

"You asked me what my job was, or whether I was in school, and I never answered you. The truth is, I'm kind of a spy. Well, Natasha's more of a spy. I'm an assassin. But I only kill bad guys! I promise."

"If you're lying I will never speak to you again. I mean it," Steve said, deadly serious.

"I'm not lying! I can't tell you that much about what I do. I work with Natasha. My cover was blown, they learned my true identity, so we had to fake my death. I'm not even supposed to really be here now, but I figured growing out my hair and dressing a little differently - " Bucky said, gesturing vaguely towards his outfit. He'd given up threadbare T-shirts, sneakers and ripped jeans in favor of slightly less ripped jeans, boots, and a dark leather jacket over a light v-neck. Steve was annoyed at how attractive he still found him.

"Natasha and I had to take care of something. We couldn't tell anyone that I was alive. Only my sisters knew. I wanted to tell you, I swear, but I couldn't. I'm so sorry, Steve. Can we still be friends? Please?" Bucky asked.

"I have to think. Can you tell Sam I left?"

"Y-yeah, sure, I'll tell him."

Steve nodded at Bucky and walked off, taking a long, meandering route back to his apartment. He needed some space and time to think. He had just begun to accept that Bucky was never coming back. Now he was here. The story about him being an assassin was hard to believe - he couldn't possibly imagine the scruffy weirdo who looked perpetually like he had just rolled out of bed was capable of killing anyone. Hurting, sure. Steve had gotten into a shoving match with a red-faced young man who had been yelling at his girlfriend in the street about a month ago, and Bucky had jumped right in to help, whaling on the man right along with Steve until he got enough sense to run off.

"What kind of dumbass picks a fight with a guy twice his size?" Bucky said afterwards, as they walked slowly home together.

"He was yelling at his girlfriend, and she was crying!"

"Punk," Bucky said, shaking his head fondly.

"Jerk," Steve replied, elbowing him in the side. Bucky laughed and threw his arm around Steve's shoulder to pull him closer in the chilly night air.

Steve looked up and realized that he was home, standing outside his apartment building. He took the stairs, and by the time he got to the top he was wheezing so badly he had to take out his inhaler. He just wanted to focus on his body instead of anything in his brain, and he leaned against his own front door, concentrating on breathing for a good five minutes before he recovered. Bucky's apartment door was still blocked by old police caution tape. Steve pulled out his keys and let himself into his aparment, shutting the door behind him. In the privacy of his own home, he finally let the joy that had been buried beneath the righteous anger come loose, and whooped loudly, grinning to himself. He knew he was being silly, but he was so glad. Bucky was alive.

The next day, at work, Steve tried carefully not to talk about Bucky or Natasha, and Sam extended the same courtesy to him. Everything seemed slightly out of sync, and twice Steve messed up a simple order. The day felt longer than it was, and Steve felt a little distant from Sam, so just before his shift ended he made sure to take his hand and lean up to kiss him goodbye. Steve wasn't usually into public displays of affection, so Sam was surprised but definitely pleased, as Steve could feel his mouth turn up into a smile.

"See you tonight?" Sam asked. He was having a welcome home dinner at his place for Natasha, and he'd promised that he was actually going to cook from scratch.

"Wouldn't miss it," Steve said, and was out the door. Natasha was there waiting for him, leaning against the wall outside the cafe, and startling him so bad he almost jumped.

"Nat! You scared me," he said. She fell into step beside him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to. I just wanted to talk with you," she said.

"Is it about the cafe? You can have your job back, I'll find something else, I know I just stepped in and took your place without - "

"No, no, don't worry about that. I was away on a job, remember? I might not work for a while. I'm thinking about going to school for dance."

"You're a dancer?" Steve asked, but he already knew the answer. It made a lot of sense. Natasha was a graceful person, and always had such perfect posture.

"I did ballet when I was a girl. But that's not what I want to talk to you about. It's Bucky. Steve, I know he hurt you, and I'm partly to blame for that. I'm sorry."

"I understand. I mean, I don't understand really, what you do or why you had to do it, but I understand that it was necessary." Steve said.

"That's all I can ask for. I know it's nothing compared to how you feel, but Bucky's feeling really torn up about this whole thing."

"Is he coming tonight? To Sam's place with you?"

"He knows you want some space, so he won't unless you ask him to." Natasha said, and then took a right at the intersection without saying goodbye. Steve couldn't go anywhere until the walk signal came on anyway, so he pulled out his phone and texted Bucky. Honestly, Steve really did want to see him.

Steve spent an embarrassing amount of time figuring out what he was going to wear, and then it didn't even matter, because as soon as he got to Sam's apartment (early, to help him get the ingredients prepared for home-made pizza) he spilled flour all over his blue shirt and had to change into one of Sam's instead. It hung loosely on his thin frame, but he was having too much fun with Sam in the kitchen to even worry about how he looked.

"No, you have to roll out the dough evenly - " Sam was saying as he put his hands over Steve's own, working the rolling pin while standing extremely close to each other. Steve was just about to turn his face and kiss Sam when the doorbell rang, and he pulled away almost guiltily.

"That must be Nat," Sam said, and when he opened the door it was in fact the familiar beautiful redhead, bearing gifts of wine, one bottle in each hand that she placed on the counter top as she walked in. Bucky followed right after her, looking a little bit uncomfortable. After everyone had exchanged pleasantries, Sam grabbed Nat and hauled her into the kitchen.

"Nat's going to help me with the pizza, you two can go set the table.  All the dishes are already out there," Sam said, and Bucky and Steve obeyed. The dining room didn't have a door, but it was a separate room than the kitchen, so that Natasha and Sam's voices were a little muffled. It gave the illusion of privacy. At first Steve and Bucky didn't say anything, simply putting the plates, glasses and forks where they were supposed to be, and then Steve finally said what had been weighing on his mind the whole time.

"Did you read the texts ?" he asked, even though he knew what the answer was going to be.

"Yes," Bucky said simply. When it was clear he wasn't going to say anything else, Steve looked away, embarrassed.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, we can just forget - " he began, but Bucky interrupted him.

"Why do you think I came up to you that first night we met? I don't just sleep on the shoulders of every person I meet," he said, the smile audible in his voice before Steve finally looked up to actually see it. Bucky had pulled his hair back in a bun tonight, and it only accentuated the lines of his jaw. He had a purpling bruise where Steve had punched him the day before.

"I've liked you since day one, Steve," he said. Steve smiled so hard it hurt. A feeling of pure joy that had been simmering in the pit of his stomach ever since he learned that Bucky was alive bubbled up to fill his whole body, and he reached out to take Bucky's hand, their fingers intertwined.

Sam and Natasha walked in with a big bowl of salad, and Sam grinned at the sight of the two of them holding hands.

"Aww, look, they made up!" he said and Natasha merely smiled. They all sat down, Bucky next to Steve and Sam with Natasha across from them. There was no sound except for the amiable clinking of silverware and 'pass the salad' please, until Bucky set his hand on Steve's thigh under the table and began slowly reaching up, higher and higher -

Steve jerked hard enough that he rattled the table and spilled salad dressing on Natasha, who kicked Bucky under the table.

"Ow! What did I do?" he protested, but Natasha just gave him a look.

"Cool it, jeez, how old are you guys anyway, twelve?" Sam said, but Steve could tell he wasn't really annoyed, as he shared a glance with Steve, his eyes twinkling. The oven beeped, and Natasha sprang to her feet.

"The pizza's ready!" she said, with more emotion than Steve had ever seen from her. He looked at Sam, who nodded solemnly.

"Pizza is the way to that woman's heart," he said, and Bucky confirmed it. Natasha was beaming when she brought the pizza out and set it on the table. The food was delicious. After dinner, as they were cleaning up, Steve made sure to walk over to Sam and put his arm around his waist, squeezing him close for a minute.

"You two have plans after this?" Sam asked, gesturing over at the dining room, where Natasha and Bucky were clearing the table.

"Probably. But you're welcome to join," Steve said, and Sam smiled, kissing Steve. When Bucky walked in, he put his dirty dishes down and joined them, taking Steve's hand and kissing him too.

"You boys better not leave me with all the dishes," Natasha said, but Steve was too happy to care.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Thank you for reading.


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